Miles from Where You Are
by celeste9
Summary: When Ryan nearly dies in the Permian, Lester begins to think his feelings might be stronger than he realised. Unfortunately, Ryan seems to have other ideas. Ryan/Lester


_****_A/N: In my Ryan/Lester series that started with 'The Distance Between Wanting and Having', possibly the conclusion. Goes AU from episode 1x6. The medic Dave 'Ditzy' Owen who briefly appears is used by kind permission of fredbassett. The title comes from "Set the Fire to the Third Bar" by Snow Patrol and Martha Wainwright.

_**Miles from Where You Are**_

Waiting for Ryan to come out of surgery was one of the most nerve-wracking, excruciating experiences of James' life to date. No one would give him a straight answer as to what was going on and he'd been told he needed to simply stay out of the way until there was news. He was tired of listening to the team offer best wishes, prayers, and platitudes when he knew nothing anyone said was going to make a difference, when he knew they were really only trying to make themselves feel better.

Ryan's men were present as well, standing in a tight knot and mostly keeping to themselves. It was odd to see men like that so visibly disturbed but James knew they considered Ryan more than just their superior officer. They had each spoken to James as well, accepting him because Ryan favoured him.

It was Dave Owen who finally spoke with the doctors and came over to James with weary relief on his face. "He's in recovery now, sir. He's going to make it."

James had to clench the back of the chair to steady himself lest he fall over. "He's all right?"

Ditzy smiled. "He's all right. The surgery went well; he's just got to come round from the anesthesia."

"Thank God," James said under his breath, closing his eyes briefly.

"Sir," Ditzy said, hesitating. "There is one thing."

James listened to Ditzy talk and felt some of his happiness leach away. The nerves in Ryan's arm had been damaged and it was impossible to say whether it would heal completely. Even with months of therapy there was a distinct chance that Ryan would never regain full use of his arm. It was possible - more than that, it was likely that he would never be able to be a field ready soldier again. James knew that Ryan was lucky to not only still have his arm but to have his life at all, but Ryan was going to take this very hard.

"Okay," he said when Ditzy stopped talking. "Okay, that's… That's okay." It was, wasn't it? Ryan was alive. That was the important thing.

"He'll be fine, sir, I promise you," Ditzy said, surprisingly earnest.

"I know that, Lieutenant."

"Of course you do. But you know what I know? I know that you need to eat and a nap wouldn't be amiss, either. It will be some time before you can see him."

"Don't you have some soldiers you should be looking after?"

"At the moment, you're my most pressing concern, strangely enough. Captain Ryan will have my arse if he wakes up to find you in poor shape. I'm not above slipping something into your coffee to make sure you get some rest."

"I'd like to see you try."

Ditzy was smirking at James, damn him. "You'll have to do better than that, sir. I didn't get to be a medic in the Special Forces without being threatened by men far more intimidating than you."

The feeling of intense irritation was actually pleasant, James decided. It gave him something to think about other than worrying about Ryan.

"Eat something, sir. I'll know if you don't; I've got my eye on you. If you don't take care of yourself, I'll be forced to do it for you and I don't think you'd want that." Ditzy's expression was a combination of a threat and amusement as he walked away.

"Meddling bastard," James said to himself as he sat back down.

Abby and Connor came in not long afterwards, each plopping down in a chair on either side of him. Two pairs of Ditzy's eyes, no doubt. Abby handed him a coffee, which he acknowledged with a nod, though he couldn't quite resist an inquisitive sniff. Smelled all right, but that wasn't terribly encouraging.

Clutching her own drink, Abby said, "We heard he's out of surgery."

"Yes."

"Did Ditzy tell you when he'll wake up?"

"No way to know. Soon."

"That's good, isn't it?"

James didn't say anything and Abby fell silent. On his other side, Connor was jiggling his knee up and down. It was annoying but not enough to be worth saying something.

"Ryan's going to be fine," Connor spoke up suddenly. "He'll be good as new, you'll see. I mean, he's _Ryan._ Like a future predator could ever be a match for him." He seemed to realise that he was starting to babble and closed his mouth, leg still bobbing up and down nervously.

It hit James then how young they both were. Barely more than children, really, and here they were, waiting for a friend to wake up after nearly being gutted by a vicious animal from the future. It wasn't the sort of life James would want for them, if he had a choice. But he didn't. He had no right to interfere in either of their lives and he wasn't completely sure why he even wanted to.

"Lester," Abby said and he waited expectantly. She looked at him, her heavy eye makeup making it seem like her eyes were ringed in shadow, and then shook her head. "Never mind."

Slightly puzzled as to what Abby might have wanted to say to him, James watched her a moment longer but she remained silent.

The time passed in a dull haze, as the team came in and out with more of their platitudes, expressing their gladness that Ryan was out of danger and their assurances that he would be fine. James nodded a lot. What did they want him to say?

Finally a nurse approached him in the waiting room. Ryan had been moved from the recovery room to intensive care, which meant that James could see him.

He walked swiftly through the corridor and almost skidded to a halt outside of Ryan's room, looking in. Ryan's eyes were closed and it was beyond strange to see the soldier like that, pale and unmoving and almost fragile-seeming, with all the tubes stuck into him and the bandages visible beneath the hospital gown.

James went inside and settled into a chair. "Ryan?" he said softly.

Ryan opened his eyes and blinked at James, seeming slightly disoriented.

"How are you feeling?"

Ryan's response was a pointed glare.

"Yes, all right, stupid question."

"It feels like something died in my mouth," Ryan said, licking his lips, his voice slightly hoarse.

James laughed, feeling a heady sense of relief. "I'm sure a toothbrush and some mouthwash will be easy to acquire."

Ryan shifted hesitantly in the bed and a hint of fear gleamed in his eyes. "James, I… I can't feel my shoulder."

James stroked his fingers down the side of Ryan's face. "Yes, I know. Ditzy said… Well, the consultant will be by to see you soon. You should hear it from the professionals."

"James?"

"I'm sorry, I… I don't understand it well myself." To be honest, he had promptly forgotten most of what Ditzy had told him seconds after he'd heard it. There were too many emotions going through him. James took Ryan's hand in both of his and held it, hoping that perhaps the touch might be at least a tiny bit reassuring.

Ryan looked from James to their hands and breathed out in a sigh, closing his eyes again. They sat in silence until the doctor came in.

James tore his gaze away from Ryan's lost, bewildered expression and left the room. He stayed outside until the consultant had left because he knew he would be unable to bear watching Ryan receive the news. Probably it made him a coward.

When he finally reentered the room, Ryan's face was turned toward the wall. "Tom?"

Ryan didn't say anything for a long while. "He said my arm's buggered."

"Yes."

"He said my chest's ripped up something awful as well. I tried to… to see, but it's all bandages."

"I…" _I saw,_ James could have said. _I saw when Cutter and his wife dragged you out of the Permian, I saw the haphazard first aid that Ditzy said saved your life. I saw your blood all over them and all I could do was call the sodding ambulance and watch Ditzy try to keep you alive._

"I'm tired. I think I'll sleep for a while."

"It's the morphine," James said simply to say something. "Can I… Do you mind if I stay for just a little while? I won't bother you."

Ryan trained dull blue eyes on him. "Do whatever you like."

So James sat. He sat and watched while Ryan turned away from him again. He sat there in the uncomfortable hospital chair, completely useless, just as he had been in the Forest of Dean, watching his lover cling to life by a thread.

* * *

The following day James returned to the Home Office but he spent the entire day distracted. He kept remembering Ryan's demeanor in hospital and how helpless James had been to do anything about it. Helpless was not an emotion James appreciated.

He left work early to visit Ryan but the man seemed about as glad to see him as if he'd been a T. rex. James mentally kicked himself for briefly running through his behaviour in his head in case he might have done something to offend Ryan. Because of course it wasn't about James at all. He just wished he knew what to do.

Their conversation was stilted as James struggled to think of what to say and Ryan's responses stuck to mostly one syllable words and grunts. He considered leaving, as Ryan's mood indicated he would rather be alone, but Ryan had been in solitude most of the day and James didn't think it was good for him to be alone so much. He also didn't want to leave because there was no use denying that he needed to be able to see Ryan alive and breathing. It was selfish but couldn't be helped.

Finally Ryan gave him a wry, humourless smile. "I must really look terrible."

"What makes you think that?"

"Because you keep calling me Tom."

Had he? He hadn't realised. "Maybe I want to be able to call my lover by his name," James said before his mind caught up to his mouth.

Ryan looked away from him. "Will you just… Will you just go? I don't want you to see me like this."

"Tom…"

"Please, James."

Resisting the urge to sigh, James nodded. "If that's what you really want. But I'll be back tomorrow."

"And if I ask you not to?"

"Think on it. Okay? Take a night and think about… about you and me, and then see how you feel in the morning. We'll talk about it tomorrow."

James left and tried not to dwell on the sense of inevitability that was welling up inside him, the inevitability that Ryan was going to end it.

* * *

That night in his flat, nursing a glass of scotch, James had no way of knowing whether Ryan was actually thinking about them, but James certainly was. The image of Ryan lying on the ground, broken and bleeding, lingered in his mind and nothing he did could shake it. He was afraid that he felt more for Ryan than he had been letting on, even to himself.

He was afraid of how much it was going to hurt if - when - Ryan put an end to them, to whatever this thing between them was.

The whole thing had been stupid to begin with. James should never have done it. He'd known it was a mistake from the beginning but he'd let his goddamn libido control him. He had told himself it would be just the one time, he could shag Ryan just once and that would be it, but it hadn't been just once. He'd done it again and again and then somehow they'd started having dinner and then Ryan was coming over to his flat and staying the night and before James knew what was happening it was all very much not simple any more.

So really, it was his own fault that he was now in the position he found himself, too invested and his heart aching. If tomorrow Ryan told him to get out, James would have only himself to blame.

* * *

"I knew you'd be back," Ryan said when James arrived the next day, that same awful weariness in his voice, like simply having James in the same room with him was a trial.

James sat down and folded his hands in his lap. "I said I would, didn't I?"

"What would it take to make you stay away?"

Startled, James met Ryan's eyes. That hadn't taken long at all. "Is that what you want? You really don't want me here?"

Ryan didn't answer the question. Instead he said, "I did what you told me. I thought about us."

James resisted the urge to prompt to Ryan to continue and waited silently, if not patiently.

"I don't know what the hell we're doing, James. What is this? It can hardly even be called a proper relationship and now you're always here, like it's some sort of fucking obligation, like you've got to stay by my side and smother me but… You don't have to. You don't owe me this."

"I'm here because I want to be here. I'm sorry if you feel… smothered, because that isn't what I intended."

Ryan scoffed. "Bollocks. No one wants to spend all day in a hospital. I'm not your family and I'm only your lover in the loosest sense of the word."

"You're being ridiculous, Tom," James said and now he certainly was using Ryan's first name on purpose. "You came to spend the night with me when I was miserable and ill and terrible company, but somehow me visiting you in hospital, after you nearly died, is strange behaviour?"

"If I recall correctly, you didn't want me over either."

"Maybe not, but I let you stay, didn't I? And honestly, I was glad of it," James admitted. It was a relief to say the truth and stop hiding. "It's natural to need comfort when you're struggling. Let me help you, like you helped me."

"It's not the same! I don't need you to fucking nurse me back to health. You don't owe me anything," Ryan said again.

"God damn it, Tom, it isn't about that! I think… I think I might love you."

"You don't love me."

The only thing that could make James angrier than letting slip that stupid admission was Ryan's complete dismissal of it. "How would you know? Don't presume to know how I feel!"

"All right, let's say you did love me. Well, guess what- that person, he's not me any more. Maybe you loved Captain Ryan but he died in the fucking Permian."

James stared, feeling like the entire situation was getting away from him completely. "That's not true and you know it. The man who went through that anomaly is the same man who came back out. You were injured but that's not… You're still Tom Ryan."

"Don't you get it? I'm a _soldier._ That's who I am; it's all I ever was. And now they're telling me that I'll probably never regain full use of my arm, I won't be able to shoot a sodding gun properly and I can't- I don't know who I am without that." Ryan's voice was full of desperation, a quiet pain in his eyes that hurt James to see.

"You're more than that, Tom," James said, needing Ryan to believe it and wishing that he was better at this. "A soldier isn't _who_ you are, it's _what_ you are. And your career isn't over, there are things-"

Ryan's good hand was clenched in the sheets, his knees bent like he wanted to get to his feet. "A fucking desk job? Is that what you're suggesting?"

"I don't know, it's an option, isn't it? This isn't something you have to figure out now! You're still recovering. You need to concentrate on getting better."

"For what? So we can live happily ever after together, you and me? Sir James Lester and his maimed soldier bed-warmer?" Ryan shook his head in disgust.

"Stop talking nonsense! I want it for you, I want you to…"

"To what? Be who I was? You want me to do my physiotherapy and recover so things can go back to the way they were? It can't happen! I can't be that man any more, I can't be what you want."

"You have no idea what I want." James himself hardly knew what he wanted.

"Don't I? James, I'm disappointed in you." There was an unfamiliar, cruel set to Ryan's mouth. "Do you think I didn't notice the way you looked at me? The way you watched me when I was on the job? I know you'd never come as hard as you did when I was in uniform, when I'd come back to you hard from a shout."

An angry flush rose in James' face but he didn't know whether he was angrier at Ryan for thinking that or at himself for whatever he'd done to make Ryan believe it. "Do you think that's all it was? Do you really think that little of me? That you were just… just some fantasy I was acting out, some fetish I was finally getting out of my system?"

"It doesn't fucking matter. This is over, James, don't you get it? We're over."

"Just like that."

"Yeah, just like that."

"That's bollocks, Tom. You can't make decisions like that on your own because you're feeling sorry for yourself."

Ryan shrugged. "I'm fairly certain I can because I just did."

"Well, I won't have it! You can't bully me into letting you have your way. You don't scare me, Captain. I've put more difficult men than you in their place without breaking a sweat."

"And you can't manipulate me into doing what you want. There aren't any favours you can call into play or bargains to be struck. This is just how it is. I don't want to see you any more."

"You don't mean that. You're not feeling yourself," James said, fighting to keep control of his emotions but knowing that he was pleading. He was _begging _and he almost didn't care.

"No, I'm not. But I swear to God, I meant every word. I don't want to see you any more," Ryan said, enunciating each word carefully, his eyes not once breaking away from James'.

In the end it was James who had to look away, hoping fiercely that Ryan couldn't see how much this hurt. "You're a lot of things, Ryan, but I never took you for a coward." James turned his back on Ryan and never looked back.

* * *

"I haven't seen you at the hospital recently," Cutter said, his tone challenging. Clearly he was in a mood, itching to pick a fight.

Damned if James was going to oblige him. He didn't even look up from his paperwork. "That would be because I haven't been there."

"I knew it! Claudia kept saying we must all just be missing you, but I knew you'd stopped going."

"Congratulations. You must be so proud."

There was a shuffling of footsteps as if Cutter had approached the desk. "What the hell is wrong with you? Ryan almost died."

"I am well aware of that, Professor."

"Then how could you..."

James sighed and finally raised his head, taking in the sight of Cutter standing before him. The man looked as though he was so overcome by anger that he couldn't even form words. "Professor Cutter, considering the current state of your own personal life, I don't believe you have the right to be lecturing me on mine. Please go and write the report you owe me."

Cutter flushed as red as a tomato and turned on his heel, striding out through the doors with a string of muttered curses. James saw Claudia in the corridor outside of his office, her eyes flickering from Cutter to James. Her lips thinned and then she followed after Cutter.

James' grip on his pen tightened. He had the impression that he was going to get an earful from Miss Brown before the day was out.

It was lucky that James was excellent at deflecting.

* * *

James had obviously known how attached Ryan's men were to him, but it was really hitting home now that he was on their bad side. They had fallen into the habit of giving him dirty looks whenever they saw him. Just flashes, really, he would see them out of the corner of his eye but whenever he looked they had always turned away, faces schooled into blankness. James was glad that he rarely had occasion to come into contact with the soldiers.

He did notice with a measure of interest that Ditzy never looked at him any differently. James wondered if he was just being polite or if he had a better idea of what had happened. Of course James had no way of knowing what, if anything, Ryan had said to anyone about it. He wouldn't have been surprised to learn that Ditzy had bullied the story out of Ryan, or even that Ditzy had simply guessed.

Whatever the truth was, it didn't matter. James wasn't friends with Ryan's men and never had been, even if they had liked him better a few weeks ago. Generally speaking, any ground he might have gained in terms of their respect had gone out the window when he stopped visiting Ryan but it would have been silly to get upset about it.

He knew that he looked like the bastard. He was the arsehole leaving his lover to lie alone in hospital, abandoning him when any worthwhile human being would have been offering their unfailing love and support. So if everyone wanted to treat him that way, James supposed he couldn't blame them.

It wasn't as if he cared.

* * *

Claudia was looking at James with that single-minded determination that meant she had something on her mind and was going to say it no matter what he did. "Yes, Miss Brown?"

"Captain Ryan is going home tomorrow."

"Yes, I know."

Claudia's eyes narrowed and she tapped her fingernails against her folded arms. "So you cared enough to keep abreast of his situation, but not enough to actually go and see him?"

"I'm giving him what he wants."

"Oh, James. That's not what he wants at all. If you think it is then I have rated your intelligence far too highly."

"He told me to leave," James ground out. "He was very clear about it. And if you don't mind, I'd like you to leave my office now, Miss Brown."

Claudia watched him with her brown doe-eyes, filled with reproach. "I'm not sure I've ever seen a more foolish display of stubbornness than this mess between the two of you. If neither of you can bend to fix it, you deserve to be miserable." She swept out of the room, head held high.

James pursed his lips sourly and glared at his desk. He liked Claudia far better when she was directing her focus and strong-minded opinions into her work. Ryan had done this, not him. If Ryan had changed his mind about what he wanted, he could bloody well say so himself.

And James would like it known for the record that if Ryan had indeed changed his mind, James fully retained the right to slam the door right in Ryan's face after everything he'd been put through.

* * *

The weeks passed, each day blurring into the next. James concentrated on his work because it distracted him from thinking about how pathetic the rest of his life was. It was hard, though, when every glimpse of a black-clad soldier made him think of Ryan and when Connor Temple looked at him with his big brown eyes like James was someone to feel sorry for.

If Connor Temple pitied you, clearly you were in a bad state of affairs.

Cutter and Stephen came by James' office after they had returned from dealing with an anomaly to brief him on how it had gone, a relatively simple, small infestation of some kind of rodent. But before they left, the two men shared a look before Stephen nodded and skulked out of the room, leaving Cutter behind.

James had noticed that Cutter and Stephen seemed to be getting along better lately than they had since Helen Cutter had dropped her bombshell. He wasn't sure he was grateful for it at the moment. "Was there something else, Professor?" he asked wearily.

"Stephen and I went round to visit Captain Ryan yesterday."

"How nice for you."

"I know you haven't been to see him."

"Your point being?"

"He was your lover!"

_And that is none of your business. _"Yes, he was, and now he isn't. Now get out of my office unless you have something important to say."

"Something about work, you mean? You bastard," Cutter said, his accent thickening. "How can work mean more to you than Ryan?"

"Captain Ryan is no longer my concern and that was his decision, not mine. Now if you please, get out and stop wasting my time!"

Cutter stood there fuming before finally turning around and moving to the door. As was typical, however, he had one final parting shot. "You never even asked how he was."

Giving in as it was the only way to get Cutter to leave him alone, James said, "Since you're dying to tell me, how is he?" He wasn't interested in the answer in the slightest, or so he told himself.

"He's lonely, Lester. He's lonely and depressed and for whatever reason, he cared about you. The least you can do is pay him a courtesy call."

James pinched the bridge of his nose. God damn it. How had he had fallen this far, to be getting relationship tips from Nick Cutter?

More importantly, why was he actually listening? Why was he considering doing as Cutter had said and going to visit Ryan?

Lonely. Fuck Ryan if he was lonely, that was his own bloody fault. James had wanted to be there for him and it was Ryan who had pushed him out.

So then why did the image of Ryan sitting alone in his flat make James feel sick?

* * *

James stayed at the Home Office until long after it had emptied for the day, until the shadows lengthened and the room darkened, until after his stomach gave up on the idea of food. He wasn't even working, mostly just staring at nothing.

The sound of his door opening startled him. "Miss Brown? What on earth are you still doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question," Claudia said and sat down, crossing her legs. "James, just go and see him."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

She rolled her eyes. "Stop being so stupid! I know that your pride has suffered, but if you don't swallow it you're simply going to remain miserable."

James scowled. "This has nothing to do with my pride." At Claudia's look, he added, "Not completely."

"All right, so Ryan dumped you. Right?" Claudia took James' silence as agreement. "Have you ever considered that he might be regretting that?"

"He owns a phone. He knows my number."

"Damn you both!" Claudia exclaimed. "You aren't a teenager, so stop acting like one. You want to see him. I know you do because I know you care about him and I know you miss him."

James bit the inside of his mouth and lowered his eyes.

Claudia reached across the desk for James' hand. "I know it's difficult. I know he hurt you. But I've seen him, and James, it can be better. It can be so much better if you just go and talk to him."

James looked into Claudia's frank, warm eyes and found himself nodding.

Her shoulders sagged in relief. "Okay. Now come on, let's have dinner. You must be starving."

* * *

James visited Ryan on Saturday, a rainy, dreary late afternoon. It had taken him most of the day to work up the nerve. He had also changed his clothes twice, feeling ridiculous and rather like a woman. He settled on a buttoned shirt with the collar open and a pair of grey trousers - casual, but nice enough that James still felt in control. Clothes were all about control, influencing how other people saw you and how you saw yourself. The right jacket and tie were as good as a suit of armour.

He slipped into the building behind a woman carrying groceries and only felt mildly ashamed of himself. He didn't want to risk the possibility that Ryan wouldn't even let him up.

James knocked at the door of Ryan's third floor flat and waited. After a short while, Ryan pulled the door open and stood there, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, his hair longer than usual and about two days' worth of stubble on his face. He looked worn and haggard but he also looked like the best thing James had ever seen in his life.

"Hello, Tom."

"Hello," Ryan said, the word very nearly a question.

"Is it all right if I come in?"

"Um, right, of course," Ryan said and stepped away far enough to let James walk through the door. He scratched the back of his head and looked at James a trifle nervously. "How… how are you?"

"Fine, thank you. And you?"

"All right."

Christ, it was so awkward. The stilted conversation and the politeness and the way they couldn't quite meet each other's eyes. It was hard to believe that they'd been lovers once, that they'd known each other's bodies through and through.

"Do you want a drink? I've got beer in the kitchen," Ryan offered.

"Yes, thanks," James said, clinging to it like a lifeline. He followed after Ryan, observing that the flat was as neat as he would have expected, even the furniture arranged with Ryan's precision, perfectly straight lines and right angles. It seemed to be fairly sparsely decorated, though there were a few homey touches, such as the knitted throw over the back of the sofa he noticed as they passed through the living room.

He waited as Ryan took two cans out of the refrigerator, passing one over. James swallowed the cheap beer and tried to think of something to say to break the silence. "How is your physiotherapy coming along?" As soon as the words left his mouth, James knew that was probably the worst thing he could have said. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

But Ryan didn't seem upset. He said, "About as well as I could have hoped for, really. They're saying we can be 'cautiously optimistic'."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"But it's still too soon to... And even if I could, I don't know that..." Ryan gulped down a mouthful of beer to cover his flustered rambling.

This was it. James had to do it now. "I wanted to see you," he blurted before he could think better of it. "I stayed away because I knew that's what you wanted, but I thought about you every day."

Oh God, how disgusting. What was he, a woman?

"James…"

"No, listen to me. I want you to have what you need, time, distance from the project, whatever it is. But I hope that I can be a part of it."

"Even after what I said to you?" Ryan asked, his gaze flickering away from James and then back, his expression full of shame.

The words felt like a lump caught in James' throat, so hard to say. "I suppose I'm banking on the fact that you didn't really mean it."

"That's a fairly big risk you're taking."

_Do you think I don't know that? _James thought. His head was telling him to run, to stop throwing himself into the path of rejection because it wasn't worth it. But the part of James that wasn't his head, the part he tried so hard to ignore, knew that Ryan was absolutely worth it. That part of James remembered the Ryan who had forced himself into James' flat, ignoring the sniping and the unpleasantness, and taken care of him when he needed it.

That Ryan, James was sure, would want to take back every word he'd said in hospital. "I'm pretty sure the things we say when we're on drugs after near-death experiences are meant to be taken with a grain of salt."

A hint of a smile crossed Ryan's face. "I... I imagine you're right."

And with that, James started to hope.

Ryan looked briefly to the ceiling before letting his eyes fall back to James. "I'm not very good at letting people in."

"Neither am I."

"Isn't that the truth," Ryan murmured. "This is going to... Oh, fuck, this is fucking hard. I'm still... I'm working through some shit, still, you know?"

"I'm well aware."

"I would never ask anyone to take that on, it wouldn't be fair."

James breathed in, then out, squarely meeting Ryan's gaze. "Then it's a good thing I'm offering."

Ryan reached out with his hand, cupping the side of James' face. James' eyes nearly fluttered shut just with that, that small touch of Ryan's callused hand. "You're a bloody stubborn bastard, James."

"Said the pot."

Ryan chuckled and it was truly embarrassing how much James had missed the sound. "Yeah, you're right there. I want... Can I kiss you?"

"Please," James whispered.

The first brush of their lips was tentative, as if they needed to remember how to do it, slow and unsure and relearning each other. There was a teenage bumping of noses and clicking of teeth before they figured it out, Ryan's hands sliding into James' hair and James' arms looping around Ryan's waist. Ryan made a low, keening, desperate noise into James' mouth that made James' knees feel weak.

"I like it when you call me Tom," Ryan breathed against James' skin and James decided that he very well might never call the man anything else again.

It took some doing but James managed to get Ryan's shirt off, revealing his new scars in all their glory. James tried hard to keep his thoughts off of his face when inwardly he couldn't decide if he felt more like shouting or possibly crying. He touched the scars lightly and then bent to replace his fingers with his mouth.

Ryan's grip tightened around James' shoulders. "Stop, stop that."

"Did I hurt you?"

"No, but I… You shouldn't…"

"You're perfect," James said fiercely, not even caring how sickeningly sentimental he must sound. "Every part of you."

"Fuck," Ryan swore, his blue eyes dark with something James couldn't put a name to. "Bed. Now, or I'm going to fuck you on the floor."

A shiver of desire went through James but he said, "I'm definitely too old for that," and let Ryan push him in the right direction.

They stumbled into Ryan's bedroom, losing clothing along the way, and fell onto the bed. It was filled with the sort of urgency of a first time except that Ryan could unerringly find that sensitive spot beneath James' ear, already knew how to suck and bite at it to make James writhe on the bed and whimper. James already knew what Ryan's skin felt like under his hands, already knew the lean strength of Ryan's muscles.

In spite of what Ryan had said, they didn't make it very far, just rutting against each other, hands wandering until Ryan impatiently, desperately finished them off with his hand. James laid there, breathing heavily into the crook of Ryan's neck, and thought that he hadn't felt this good in a very, very long time. He didn't even care that Ryan was resting rather too much of his weight on top of him.

"Did you mean it?"

James opened his mouth to ask for clarification but then Ryan raised his head and James could see his eyes. James looked away. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"I want you to tell me the truth. James, I know all this touchy-feely crap isn't your thing and believe me, it isn't mine either. But I think we need to talk about this before we go any further."

"I notice you waited until after you'd shagged me," James said, earning a chuckle. "I don't know, I... I suppose it depends on whether you're going to tell me I don't know my own mind when I answer you."

Regret and sorrow flashed across Ryan's face. "If you tell me you meant what you said when I was in hospital, then I'll tell you that I think I know how you feel."

"Tom," James said quietly. "Oh, God, Tom." He fitted his hands at the back of Ryan's neck and pulled him down, crushing their mouths together. At that moment it felt like Ryan was the only thing he had ever truly wanted in his entire life and he could barely wrap his head around the idea that Ryan was something he could have.

"I meant it," he said into Ryan's mouth. "I meant it."

Ryan slid his mouth across James' skin, his lips settling lightly against James' jaw. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was an arse, I'm sorry I hurt you."

James squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm sorry I didn't try harder."

They lay in bed quietly, not moving, before Ryan pushed himself up onto his elbows, looking down into James' face before finally getting to his feet. He held out his hand. "Come on. The shower's big enough for two and I don't want to hear you complaining about the mess."

James let Ryan pull him up. "I never complain."

Ryan snorted and led him out of the bedroom. Ryan got them some juice in the kitchen first, with a wry smile and a joke about rehydrating. And in the shower, with their hands roaming all over and the hot spray of water beating down on their heads, they might have finally got to the actual fucking.

Afterwards, James was nothing more than a loose, pleasant sprawl of slightly achy limbs in Ryan's bed with Ryan solid and warm at his side, feeling utterly, blissfully satisfied. "I suppose you've heard about the plans for a new building."

"The lads have been keeping me up-to-date. Seems they have designs about convincing you to put in a fully-equipped gym and a shooting range."

"Yes. Your Lieutenant Lyle has been particularly vocal on the topic; he's been a persistent pain in my arse."

"That sounds like Lyle."

James hesitated and then decided to go for it. "I've been looking into bringing in someone new to take over from you."

Ryan didn't even pause. "The lads've told me that as well."

In for a penny, in for a pound… "I know I said that I wanted you to have whatever you need, even if it's never having anything to do with the anomalies again, and I meant that. But we could use you, Tom. I could use you. The man I'm looking at, Captain Becker, he's just some young pretty boy, newly commissioned."

"So you want me to deal with him?" Ryan asked, amused.

"I'd like to have you around to keep me sane."

"It wouldn't be enough to come home to me?"

"Well, certainly it would help," James said, getting distracted by the wonderful idea of it. "But I've been spoiled with you. You can't expect me to break in someone new on my own."

"You won't be on your own. The lads'll back you up."

"Will you just promise me you'll think about it? That's all I'm asking. If your answer is no, I won't argue. I'd only like you to consider it."

"All right, James. I'll think about it, for the sake of your sanity- and probably this Captain Becker's as well."

"I'll ignore your lack of faith in my patience with new employees," James said, laying his hand on Ryan's face and stroking his stubbled jaw.

And then his stomach gave an embarrassing grumble.

Ryan's eyes crinkled at the corners. "I suppose it was rude of me not to offer you anything to eat. There are some menus in the kitchen, we can order in."

"Or I can go, if you want," James offered, sitting up, wondering if perhaps he was starting to overstay his welcome.

"James, we've already had a cuddle. Dinner's nothing." Ryan leaned in as if for a kiss but instead dropped a kiss onto James' nose. "You don't have plans this weekend, do you?"

"Not exactly." To be honest, he hadn't thought of anything beyond hoping Ryan would see him.

"Good," Ryan said with a promising glint in his eyes. "Because I don't intend to let you leave my flat until you have to go to work on Monday."

_**End**_


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